Into the Megadungeon: Mysteries

The first episode of Ben Laurence's new podcast, Into the Megadungeon, was just released and features your truly talking about my own experiences creating and refereeing a megadungeon-centric RPG campaign. Feature episodes will feature others who've done the same and I'm very interested in what they have to say on the matter. 

Notes to the episode can be found here, though they're geared more toward newcomers to the topic than the old hands I expect to be the majority of Grognardia's readers.

Into the Megadungeon

Ben Laurence over at Mazirian's Garden is working on a podcast called Into the Megadungeon that will explore the ins and outs of refereeing a megadungeon-focused fantasy roleplaying game campaign. The first episode will be released on Tuesday, August 8, and will feature yours truly talking about both my Dwimmerount megadungeon of old and the Vaults of da-Imer megadungeon that I'm slowly constructing as part of Dungeon23. 

Additional episodes will be released on biweekly basis. Ben intends to produce 10 episodes as part of the first season of the podcast, with each episode featuring a different referee who's created and refereed a megadungeon campaign for an extended period of time. I have no idea how long he can keep the podcast going – I doubt Ben does either – but I think it's a worthy topic and I look forward to listening to the episodes as they're released.

Six Months In

It's now been six months since the start of Dungeon23. Though I tend to be skeptical of these kinds of bandwagon-y Internet "challenges," I nevertheless decided to participate in this one, because I thought it a worthwhile endeavor in its own right – the creation of a twelve-level, 365-room dungeon over the course of a year – and because I thought its pace – one room a day – was sustainable. Sitting here at the beginning of the second half of the year, I still think that. In fact, I'm very glad that I've stuck with this, even if it's occasionally been harder to do than I'd anticipated.

As you may recall, I chose to use Dungeon23 as an opportunity to develop the Vaults of da-Imer, a subterranean area beneath the former capital of the Empire of Inba Iro. My hope was that my daily work would eventually provide me with an adventuring locale in which to playtest Secrets of sha-Arthan, as well as give me the opportunity to flesh out parts of its setting. I also felt it inculcated good discipline in me by ensuring that, no matter what, I wrote something every day if I wasn't going to fall behind on the whole project.

That's not quite what happened, alas. At the moment, for example, I am five days behind in my pace, but I have little doubt I'll be able to catch up soon. Part of the problem for me is that I am no cartographer. Drawing maps is something about which I do not feel confident. Likewise, I opted for an approach that broke down each month's level into two to four "complexes," each consisting of somewhere between 8 to 15 rooms. While a great idea from the perspective of variety, not to mention providing multiple pathways to explore the Vaults, it increased my workload significantly, hence my occasional backlogs of work.

On the other hand, I've completed six levels and 181 individual rooms so far. That's not nothing. I doubt I'd have made it this deep into the Vaults of da-Imer if I didn't have the artificial frame of Dungeon23. I remain reasonably confident that, at the end of this year, I'll complete all twelve levels and 365 rooms. The end result won't be pretty, but it'll be a substantial amount of raw material from which to build something more polished. Even now, I often find myself going back and adding to or editing previous entries, as better, more complete ideas come to me. Frustrations aside, this has been a worthy project. I hope others have found it similarly useful to them. 

By Hand

Last month, I mentioned that I'd be participating in Dungeon23, a challenge to create a 12-level, 365-room megadungeon one room at a time over the course of 2023. One of the reasons I decided to take this up was because I'd already intended to begin more extensive playtesting of the rules for my The Secrets of sha-Arthan RPG this year. Having a large subterranean locale ready for players to explore would help me in this effort, as well as providing me with an opportunity to flesh out the setting further. Thus was born the Vaults of da-Imer.

Though I was very excited by the prospect of detailing the Vaults, one aspect of this project gave me pause: mapmaking. Even in my youth, when I had the time to devote to such things, I was never very good at cartography. Of course, back in those days, I also wasn't very self-aware and so my obvious shortcomings didn't much affect me. I'm not so lucky in my middle age; I am keenly aware of the inadequacy of my mapmaking skills. However, I am elected to proceed nonetheless, drawing the Vault's maps by hand, in the hope that doing so might, if nothing else, encourage me to keep at it until I reach some mediocre level of proficiency.

To that end, here's the first map I drew for the Vaults of da-Imer. It's from a section of Level 1 known as "The Threshold." I've opted to give the Vaults a node-like structure rather than the more traditional approach to dungeons. Hence, Level 1 consists of five complexes of 4–8 rooms, each effectively its own "mini-dungeon" within the larger whole of the Vaults. I've never done a dungeon like this before, let alone one consisting of 365 rooms, so it'll be interesting to see how it turns out in the end.

Dungeon23

Megadungeon for 2023. 12 levels. 365 rooms. One room a day. Keep it all in a journal. ⁦@LukeGearing⁩ let’s do this. pic.twitter.com/tCVgh8i1MF

— 💭 Sean McCoy (@seanmccoy) December 5, 2022

An old mantra of this blog has long been that "roleplaying games were born in the megadungeon." By this, I simply mean that most of the earliest examples of what we would today recognize as RPGs were played in the context of exploring an immense, subterranean locale filled with monsters, magic, and mysteries – Dungeons & Dragons, Tunnels & Trolls, and Empire of the Petal Throne, to cite just three examples, all assume that much of a campaign's action will center around delving into the depths. Obviously, roleplaying games can (and should) include so many more activities, but there's something satisfyingly primal about braving the mythic underworld and returning to tell the tale.

To be worthy of the name, a megadungeon shouldn't merely be vast in size, it should also contain enough to hold the players' attentions for a long period of time. Unlike smaller, more focused "lair" dungeons, like those typically found in published adventure modules, a megadungeon is a sprawling, rambling thing that isn't about any one thing, nor is it possible to "clear" it. Instead, it's a place to which the characters can come again and again over the course of weeks, months, or even years without ever fully exhausting. A megadungeon can thus be the centerpiece of a campaign, in the way that Castles Blackmoor and Greyhawk were in their respective campaigns and the Jakállan Underworld was in the earliest Tékumel campaign.

I was reminded of all of this for two unrelated reasons. First, as you'll know, I've been working on a science fantasy RPG I'm calling The Secrets of sha-Arthan. When I first conceived of the idea a year and a half ago, I called the project The Vaults of sha-Arthan. The Vaults of the title are megadungeons by another name – deep, ancient labyrinths reputed to contain the secrets of the deific Makers. From the beginning, I knew I wanted to develop one of these Vaults as the basis of a sha-Arthan campaign and have been slowly poking at the idea ever since.

Second, Sean McCoy, the creator of Mothership, proposed something that's come to be known as Dungeon23. The idea quite simple: create one room each day for a megadungeon throughout the entirety of 2023 and then share the results. I thought this was a great idea, if only because it took what might otherwise have seemed like an insurmountable endeavor and broke it down into a much more manageable form. Since I was already contemplating the development of one of the Vaults of sha-Arthan for use in a campaign, Sean's idea struck me as worthy of an attempt.

So, among other things, 2023 will see me attempt to flesh out the Vaults beneath the ancient city of da-Imer one room at a time. Since I already have a lot of ideas of what that fabled underworld might contain, I'm pretty confident that I'll be able to keep up the pace for a while. Of course, this is a marathon, not a sprint. The real test comes after a few weeks or even months, after the novelty of the exercise begins to wear off and the realization that a year is a long time to commit to a single project.

I'll undoubtedly have a few more thoughts on this, as I work on it over on my Patreon. For now, I only wanted to say publicly that I intend to pick up the gauntlet Sean has thrown on the ground. Wish me luck.

General Rules for Dungeon Designers

Jon Salway recently pointed out Ken St. Andre's "general rules for dungeon designers" from the first edition of Tunnels & Trolls (1975), which I reproduce below.

For the benefit of those, like myself, whose eyesight isn't as good as it used to be, these general rules are, as follows:

1. Let your imagination run wild. You can do anything you want to.
2. Put in a lot of stuff. Nobody wants to mess around in a dull dungeon.
3. Use as much humor as you can, but don’t be silly or juvenile.
4. The deeper the dungeon, the more dangerous it should be.
5. Every trap or spell should have some way of being avoided, nullified, or overcome. You need not tell people how to save themselves, but there should be a way. It is definitely not fair to teleport everybody who enters your solar room into the heart of the sun.

There's nothing here that I think is controversial, with the possible exception of point 3. Many people, myself included, are wary of overt humor in RPG material (with certain exceptions, obviously) and not unreasonably. On the other hand, I don't think I've ever participated in a game session that wasn't regularly punctuated by laughter, puns, in-game jokes, and other tomfoolery – nor would I wish to do so. At the same time, one of my longstanding objections to T&T is that it veers a little too close to the "silly or juvenile" that St. Andre wisely warns against (take a look at the spell names, for example). 

Point 2 is where I think St. Andre is really on to something. In a dungeon-centric campaign, it's vital that there be "a lot of stuff" in the dungeon in order to hold the players' attention and encourage them to spend more time in the place. Of course, "stuff" isn't just limited to monsters, treasures, and traps. I imagine things like factions and long-term mysteries. Frankly, those are two elements I'd consider important for any type of campaign, but they're especially important in dungeons, I believe, in order to avoid the inevitable boredom that might otherwise creep in after kicking open the doors of untold rooms on multiple levels over many weeks or months. 

Can anyone recall similar sorts of dungeon design rules from other RPGs? I enjoy reading advice like this, doubly so if it reflects the thoughts of someone who had a reputation for being a good referee (and Ken St. Andre is one such person).

Huge Ruined Piles

Men & Magic, Volume I of original Dungeons & Dragons, in a section entitled "Preparation for the Campaign," rather famously describes a dungeon as a

"huge ruined pile, a vast castle built by generations of mad wizards and insane geniuses".

The quote is a popular one in the OSR and for good reason: it's incredibly evocative. Reading it, I find myself thinking of an immense, crumbling Gothic structure, perched precariously on some mountaintop and sprawling across its slopes. In this, I've likely been influenced by the cover illustration to OD&D's Supplement II: Blackmoor.

What's interesting is that both the Blackmoor and Greyhawk campaigns were centered around – and indeed named after – a castle (as was Rob Kuntz's El Raja Key). Despite that, it was the levels beneath those two castles that served as the focus of player character action rather than the castles proper. Castle Greyhawk did have an "upper works" (as did Castle Zagyg), but they did not occupy much of the player's attention, at least according to one account by James M. Ward. For Castle Blackmoor, we have a map of the surface levels of the castle, presented in Judges Guild's The First Fantasy Campaign, but they're sadly not very interesting – hardly a "huge ruined pile."

Speaking of Judges Guild, the 1977 module, Tegel Manor, is in some ways closer to this ideal, though, at only 250-ish rooms, it's probably too small to be called truly "sprawling" (though moreso than either Castle Amber or my own The Cursed Chateau). 

I've written before about "above ground" dungeons, but, in that case, I was thinking mostly of ruined cities on the model of Glorantha's Big Rubble, which is itself worthy of further discussion. However, my present musings are occasioned more by today's Pulp Fantasy Library entry. I now find myself thinking about immense, haunted castles – an unholy amalgam of Castle Dracula, Neuschwanstein, and the Winchester Mystery House, peopled with all manner of monsters and perhaps even the degenerate descendants of the original inhabitants á la H.P. Lovecraft's The Lurking Fear

It's funny really that "the dungeon," meaning an improbable warren of subterranean tunnels should become the default environment for adventuring in RPGs. On one level, it makes perfect sense, since dungeons, as conceived by roleplaying games, have no real world analog, thus freeing the referee to map them according to his own fancies. Mapping a castle, even an absurdly large and rambling one, might demand at least a little knowledge of the layout of such buildings and that can impede one's creativity. I've experienced a little of this myself, in detailing the surface ruins of Urheim, since it's meant to be a "real" fortified monastery where all of its buildings have a clear and logical purpose. 

That aside, I don't see any reason why a would-be designer of a massive castle "dungeon" need be limited by real world considerations. My references above to Neuschwanstein and the Winchester Mystery House were chosen specifically to highlight the legitimacy of whimsical, irrational, and downright deranged design choices. After all, if your huge ruled piles is the result of "generations of mad wizards and insane geniuses," why should its floorplan be bound by normal logic? 

I remain quite taken with Jason "Philotomy Jurament" Cone's notion of "the dungeon as mythic underworld," which I believe comports almost perfectly with OD&D's presentation of the game's play environment. But we need not be too literal when it comes to adopting this perspective. Properly presented, a sprawling, crumbling castle can be every bit an example of an underworld as any series of monster-infested tunnels. Indeed, if one looks at Gothic fiction from the late 18th through 19th centuries and beyond – fiction that has had a clear influence on fantasy roleplaying – cursed and haunted castles abound and entering them is often metaphorically akin to descending into Hades (consider Jonathan Harker's trip to Transylvania in Dracula, for instance).

Obviously, creating a dungeon of this sort will require some re-thinking of the traditional structure of levels and the difficulty associated thereto. Off the top of my head, I might suggest dividing the castle into wings, with certain certain wings being "low level" and others "high." Alternately – or even in conjunction with wings – one might instead opt for a vertical approach: as one ascends the castle's spires, it becomes more difficult. Another possibility is simply to dispense with such artificial notions and opt for a more "organic" one, where the challenge is independent of location and characters exploring the place must learn to be clever to avoid running into dangers beyond their present abilities. The possibilities are quite large and, were I a better cartographer, I might start work on my own huge ruined pile. Alas, my skills in this area are negligible, so it won't be happening anytime soon. One day ...

Pulp Fantasy Library: Titus Groan

Two admissions before I begin. 

First, and most obviously, Mervyn Peake's 1946 novel, Titus Groan, cannot, by any reasonable judgment, be called a work of pulp fantasy. Certainly it's a fantasy and a remarkable one at that, but it's quite far from the sort one would have found in the pages of Weird Tales. Nevertheless, because of its relevance to matters near and dear to fantasy RPGs like Dungeons & Dragons, I hope I can be forgiven for this taxonomical impropriety (a sin I've committed on more than one occasion previously). 

Second, despite numerous entreaties by people whose opinions I respect, I hadn't read Titus Groan or its two sequels in the Gormenghast Trilogy until quite recently, an omission that, having now corrected, I feel was a terrible lacuna in my literary education. Please bear that in mind, as you read this post, as what follows are the fervid thoughts of a neophyte experiencing a rare delicacy for a first time rather than the carefully considered opinions of someone well-versed in its unique pleasures.

Titus Groan begins with the birth of its titular character, the only son of Lord Sepulchrave, 76th Earl of Groan, who will one day inherit rulership of Castle Gormenghast. City-like in size, Castle Gormenghast is effectively a world unto itself, to the point that all the novel's action takes place within its vast expanse. The castle is so large that characters who dwell in different parts of it occasionally remark that it's been years since they last saw one another. Filled with innumerable sub-buildings, chambers, and hiding places, many of which have evocative names – the Tower of Flints and the Hall of Bright Carvings being but two that feature in the novel – the castle is almost a character in its own right. It's certainly more than just the setting of the story: characters make frequent references to the castle and "the stones" (or variations thereof) in their oaths and exclamations, reinforcing its centrality to the unfolding story. Castle Gormenghast is truly a singular literary creation and I now understand why so many people have recommended I read Titus Groan over the years.

Contemporaneous with the birth of Titus are events in the far-off – and insufferably hot – Kitchens, overseen by a cruel chef called Swelter. (As an aside, the names in Titus Groan are terrific: reminiscent of Dickens in their dark whimsy and portentous of the natures of those who bear them.) Among Swelter's many abused minions is a teenaged boy named Steerpike, who wishes nothing more than to leave his service and find escape. This he does during the commotion caused by the celebration of the birth of Titus. Unfortunately, he is soon discovered by Mr Flay, Lord Sepulchrave's majordomo, who consigns him to a locked room for, among other things, not knowing his proper place. Mr Flay is quite keen on such matters, as Castle Gormenghast depends on everyone who dwells within it – and there are seemingly a great many of them – knowing his place and acting in accordance with it. Even Lord Sepulchrave himself is bound by his duties, which consist in large part of performing rituals dictated by the books of the Master of Ceremonies, rituals passed down from previous Earls of Groan and added to as circumstances demand. It's a ponderous, hidebound system and one can't help but be a little sympathetic to characters who wish to see it ended, one way or another.

Steerpike is one such character and much of the book focuses on him, as he uses his natural charm and cleverness to work his way up the ladder of Castle Gormenghast's internal hierarchy. He escapes from the confinement into which Mr Flay flung him through a window and then scrambles across the rooftops of Gormenghast. While doing so, he spies Lady Fuschia, the teenaged sister of newborn Titus and decides to endear himself to her as a means of bettering his position. This he does through a combination of flattery and genuine friendship, appealing to her loneliness and romantic yearnings for a more exciting life. In fairly short order, he uses her to secure himself a job with the court physician, Dr Prunesqualor, but his goals are much, much higher and the bulk of the novel concerns the rise in fortune that results from them – as well as the chaos he unleashes on the previously staid world of Castle Gormenghast. 

Titus Groan is, at times, a mildly confusing book whose narrative demands attention to follow, which is why I'm uncertain I've understood all the details. There are a large number of characters and locales within Gormenghast, in addition to references and allusions that give the book a fevered, dream-like quality. This is simultaneously commendable and infuriating, as the very elements that make Titus Groan so compelling sometimes work against immediate comprehension (or at least they did in my case). Admittedly, the same could be said of, say, The Lord of the Rings, another great work of English fantasy that appeared a few years later. Titus Groan is thus a book one might need to read a couple of times before fully appreciating but that should prove little chore, given the richness and imagination of Peake's prose. It's a pleasure to read and I look forward to doing so again when time permits.

Though named for the young heir to the throne, who spends much of the book a child, the real stars of Titus Groan are Steerpike and Castle Gormenghast itself. The former is a charming rogue who, as the story progresses, becomes increasingly black hearted and outright villainous. Peake is to be praised for his ability to lure the reader into initial sympathy with the downtrodden young man, even as he slowly reveals the true depths of his wickedness. Gormenghast, meanwhile, could be called the greatest literary example of a megadungeon, despite being almost entirely aboveground. Nevertheless, it's hard not to imagine what it would be like to wander the twisting halls of this immense structure and uncover its secrets. It's in this context that I think Titus Groan and its sequels are perhaps of most immediate interest to roleplayers and, on that basis, alone I highly recommend it, though it offers a great deal more, if you're willing to stick with it. 

Legends of Urheim

Each player character begins the campaign with one random legend, as determined by the roll of 1d20. This represents a bit of lore the character obtained by one means or another (research, tavern gossip, etc.), though there is no guarantee that that the lore is true. Some of the legends below are untrue, in whole or in part. No two characters can begin with knowledge of the same legend. Repeated results should be re-rolled until every character has a unique legend possessed by no one else.

1. There are two sets of catacombs, one beneath the Upper Temple and one beneath the Lower Temple.
2. The Lower Temple is dedicated to St. Evad filzArn and once housed relics associated with him.
3. A dragon is said to dwell in the Lower Gatehouse and attacks any who approach the monastery from that direction.
4. The Great Stairs leading to the Upper Temple consist of 100 steps – ten for every Precept of Mother Church.
5. The White Hill is riddled with three levels of laura (hermit caves), some of which are still inhabited by zealous monks who were not driven away. 
6. A group of mercenaries known as the Company of the Quarrel have taken up banditry and now use the monastery as their base of operations.
7. The causeway leading to the underworld is trapped and only a cleric of Law can pass across it unharmed.
8. The underworld beneath the monastery leads to one or more of the Demon Worlds. 
9. The last abbot, Cassyon, gathered up the relics of St. Gaxyg and fled into the underworld with them.
10. The ecclesiarch Majorian betrayed the monastery, leading to its fall; his damned soul still haunts the Upper Gatehouse. 
11. The monastery's well provides a means to bypass the magical wards that seal the entrance to the underworld.
12. The monks defeated the demon king Bael, imprisoning him within the underworld, where he still lurks to this day.
13. The entrance to the Underworld is warded.
14. Exposure to the raw power of Chaos can warp the flesh and taint the mind, which is what led to the fall of the monastery.
15. The Rangers of Somtha used to keep watch on the monastery ruins but no longer do so.
16. A powerful magician named Emmeran found a way into the Underworld and now rules over part of it as its master.
17. Beastmen have established a lair among the surface ruins of the monastery.
18. The Upper Temple is dedicated to St. Gaxyg the Gray, after whom the whole complex is named. 
19. Margrave Vedast has sponsored three expeditions to breach the entrance to the underworld in recent years and all three met with failure.
20. Chanting can still be heard in the Upper Temple on the feast days of St. Gaxyg and St. Evad.

Living Dungeons

"The dungeon" is undoubtedly the iconic locale of fantasy gaming and yet I don't think there's a consensus on just what a dungeon is or how it's supposed to operate, both in the game and in the setting in which it appears. Consequently, each referee has his own points of reference and inspiration when imagining a dungeon. Over the years, I've had several myself, but my most recent one, for reasons I'll shortly explain, is the warren beneath Wing Kong Holdings in the 1986 film, Big Trouble in Little China.

There are a couple of reasons why this has inspired me. First, it's a terrific example of a mythic underworld, a term coined by Jason "Philotomy Jurament" Cone in his foundational text on OD&D. On the outside, Wing Kong Holdings is little more than a warehouse, with a tacky reception area staffed by two ordinary (and easily duped) guards. As one delves deeper, past the rows of ceramic Buddhas and other cheaply made Asian-themed souvenirs, things start to get decidedly weirder. There's a Hellevator, a bottomless pit, creepy statues (including a neon-lit demon), streams flowing with the Black Blood of the Earth, ritual chambers, and lots of wandering monsters. 

It's the presence of wandering monsters and the characters' attempts to avoid them that first made me sit up and look more carefully at the environment of this underground lair. One scene in particular, referenced in the image above, struck a chord with me. Jack Burton, Egg Shen, Wang, and their comrades in arms are wandering about, looking for Lo Pan, when two guards in demon armor wander by, swords drawn. Jack and company dive back, out of sight, to avoid alerting the guards to their presence. It was a good reminder of the old school wisdom of avoiding unnecessary fights and wandering monsters are almost always unnecessary fights.

The whole scene also reminded me of descriptions of the underworlds of Tékumel. Section 1200 of Empire of the Petal Throne says this:

Another factor is the custom of Ditlána, the ceremonial "renewing" of many cities every 500 years: cellars and foundations of an old city are filled in and roofed over, upper floors are razed, and then new and more splendid edifices are built upon the foundation. Such earlier buried habitations are now full of burrows and tunnels built by humans, half-humans, nonhumans, and the many parasites and predators of Tékumel who subsist upon man's leavings. Many earlier temples to the Gods of Tékumel – particularly those allied with "evil" – are still maintained in the Underworlds beneath the sprawling modern cities, and it is in these that many of the rich treasures of the ancients are preserved.

I've bolded the most significant portion of the text. On Tékumel, underworlds – dungeons – are alive with activity. Many temples continue to use and guard subterranean shrines and other holy places. That means that, when the player characters are poking around, looking for treasure, they're likely to encounter hidden places that are far from abandoned. While there's a longstanding custom of "what happens in the underworld stays in the underworld," in practical terms one cannot simply sack ancient underground temples with impunity. There will be consequences to doing so and this gives dungeon delving on Tékumel a different character than that of many other fantasy worlds. Exploring the underworld on Tékumel is often as much a social battle as a martial one.

This approach needn't be unique to Tékumel (and undoubtedly isn't), but it took a combination of playing Empire of the Petal Throne for the last five years and rewatching Big Trouble in Little China to hit it home for me. 

The Problem with Dungeons

Volume 3 of original Dungeons & Dragons famously includes a section entitled "Maintaining Freshness."

As monsters inhabiting the rooms, spaces, and corridors of a level are killed or captured, the level will become drab and dull. Coupled with this problem, players will have made fairly accurate maps of the level, so it will be challengeless this way also.

Dungeon restocking tables  are one response to these concerns and a good one in my opinion. They're a simple way to ensure that a dungeon is not static but rather a living place. 

A problem remains, however, and it's possibly a big one. It's a problem I've been grappling with lately and I have yet to decide whether it's inherent to the very concept of dungeons or if it's only a consequence to the way most of us conceive of them. The problem is this: what prevents someone with a great deal of power and resources from clearing out a dungeon in a massive, organized way? Think about the stories of how Rob Kuntz's character Robilar successfully defeated The Tomb of Horrors but on a more massive scale. 

I ask this question not specifically from a practical perspective but more from a narrative one. Yes, yes, I know, "narrative" is a bad word in some old school circles and the mere utterance of it is blasphemy. More seriously, though, my point rests on trying to imagine how the existence of dungeons would affect the world in which they exist. Unless the player characters are the first people to discover the dungeon and keep their knowledge of it secret, wouldn't other adventurers soon flock to the site and overrun it? For that matter, if a dungeon has existed for centuries, why wasn't it cleared long before the player characters were even born?

There are ways to address these questions, of course. For example, a dungeon might have been magically barred from entry until just recently, making the player characters the first outsiders to plumb its depths in some time. That doesn't wholly resolve the matter, since the question of why a dungeon isn't rapidly swarmed with adventurers remains. That's not to say no answers are possible, only that they rarely seem to be in my experience. Instead, most dungeons operate under a kind of "script immunity" in which they simply exist solely for the benefit of the player characters to explore and no one else.

If you read Dave Arneson's The First Fantasy Campaign, you'll see, in his brief descriptions of the dungeons of Blackmoor Castle, that he did in fact address some of these questions, albeit in a slightly whimsical way.

As you can see, a group of Elves have taken it upon themselves to guard the entrance to the dungeon, both to prevent monsters from inside it escaping and to limit the number of adventurers entering it. They even charge admission and sell souvenirs, giving it the feel of an amusement park. That's not the approach I'd take myself and indeed I find it somewhat silly, but there's nothing inherently wrong with it. M.A.R. Barker's Tékumel campaign had its own approach to these matters, which I plan to discuss in another post later this week, and they're instructive. I wish I knew more about the conduct of Gary Gygax's Greyhawk campaign with regard to its dungeons, since I suspect it'd offer additional insights.

Ultimately, my point is that it's not enough simply to think about what happens inside a dungeon; equally important is how a dungeon affects and is affected by the imaginary world in which it's situated. Given the centrality of dungeons to old school fantasy campaigns, this isn't an idle question but in fact a foundational one.

The Monastery of St. Gaxyg-at-Urheim

Map by FrDave of Blood of Prokopius

The monks of St. Gaxyg (popularly called “the Gray Monks,” after the color of their habits) were a Lawful order committed to sanctity, good works, and scholarship in equal measure, thereby winning them the esteem and affection of folk throughout the realm. So ardent were the monks in defending against the depredations of Chaos that they established a monastery upon the crags of Urheim, beneath which festered subterranean cavities that not only spawned foul aberrations but whose supernatural taint drew monsters and evil men alike to itself.

The Gray Monks valiantly embarked on a generations-long project of cleansing Urheim of its contagion by venturing deep into its subterranean recesses to confront its denizens with holiness, magic, and steel. Further, they worked the very stone of Urheim itself, endowing it with a Lawful pattern and sanctifying it in the name of St. Gaxyg. Slowly but surely, despite the cost to themselves, the monks did more than contain Chaos; they pushed it back, defeating it in its very lair and, in the process, amassing items of mysterious origins and magical potency, along with other treasures, all of which they either put to good use or stored away, lest they fall into the wrong hands.

While the monastery stood strong, it was a beacon of light and Law in a darkened world. Pilgrims flocked to it to venerate the memory of the saint in whose name the monks labored and to gain spiritual edification from their example. Novices regularly entered the monastery, swelling their ranks and ensuring that Law carried the day in the battle beneath Urheim. Many warriors pledged themselves to the monks and joined them in their great task, further strengthening their cause and leading some to believe that Chaos might finally be defeated for all time.

Alas, Chaos can twist and corrupt all things – including the human heart. In time, the Gray Monks grew indulgent, preferring wealth and influence to wisdom and piety. A succession of weak and worldly abbots accelerated this shameful decline. Slowly, the blasphemous spawn of Urheim reclaimed the caves as their own, pushing the monks out and reversing the hard-won victories of the centuries. Rather than fight them, as had their predecessors, the monks simply warded the entrance to the underworld and settled into comfortable laxity. No longer exemplars of Law and goodness, the wealth of the monastery aroused the envy of local lords, who sacked the place, putting the remaining monks to the sword before seizing their treasures. Greedy though they were, these lords knew better than to disturb Urheim, leaving it safely warded by the holy magic of St. Gaxyg.

Chaos still issues its siren call, drawing evil beings, human and otherwise, to Urheim. Rumors have spread that someone–or something–has found a way to enter the hidden caves once more, seeking both the wealth and evil power they reputedly hold. If true, the darkness the Gray Monks once fought could escape its prison and pour out across the land, heralding a terrible future ...

ASE 2-3 Now Available

Though the news of this has already spread far and wide -- or, at least, I hope it has -- I'd nevertheless like to make everyone aware that the second volume of Patrick Wetmore's terrifically gonzo post-apocalyptic megadungeon, the Anomalous Subsurface Environment, is now available for purchase via Lulu.com in both print and electronic form.

The second volume is bigger the first one, since it includes two full levels of the ASE rather than just one. It's also, if anything, even more bizarre. I've already got my copy and will doing a review of it in the coming weeks, but, if you liked the first volume, as I did, I have little doubt you'll enjoy the second.

Multi-Level Mapping

When I first entered the hobby, I was greatly taken by the cross-section illustration of "Stone Mountain" (aka Skull Mountain) presented in the D&D Basic Set rulebook edited by Dr J. Eric Holmes. Indeed, it's not unreasonable to say that, for over three decades, Stone Mountain has been my mind's eye vision of what a "megadungeon" looks like. For those of you somehow unfamiliar with this illustration, here it is:

There's a similar, though, in my opinion, less interesting, cross-section in Tom Moldvay's 1981 Basic Rulebook that looks like this:

A much better cross-section appeared in another Tom Moldvay effort, The Lost City, and it looked like this:

What I like about these cross-sections is the way they provide context for a dungeon by showing how all the various levels interrelate with not just one another but also the surrounding environment. I think that's key to presenting a compelling tent pole dungeon for long-term campaign use.

Much as like these cross-sections, they do have one problem: they're very stylized. That is, they're more art than map. That's fine for helping one to visualize the dungeon as a whole but it doesn't provide the nitty gritty details that are vital to ensuring that all the dungeon's pieces fit together properly. That's why I had Tim Hartin put together several images where all the levels of Dwimmermount were piled on top of each other to show how they connected. Here's one that shows seven different levels (1, 2A, 2B, 3A, 3B, 4, and 5):

Here's another that shows four different levels (5, 6A, 6B, and 7):

Doing this was incredibly helpful, since it revealed a couple of minor errors in the cartography -- places where the connections between levels didn't quite work out as they were intended to. While easily fixed and relatively minor in nature, neither of us would have noticed the errors if we hadn't undertaken this exercise. More than that, I got a different perspective on ten dungeon levels than a cross-sectional illustration might provide. I still think cross-sections are useful tools for referees and players alike, but they do have limitations, no matter how attractive and inspirational they may be.

OSRCon: Dwimmermount, Session 2

I'd intended to post the second of my OSRCon 2012 reminiscences sooner, but better late than never, I suppose. On the morning of the second day of the con, I ran Level 1 of Dwimmermount for a different group of people, including several fellow bloggers: Brendan S, Ramanan Sivaranjan, and Steve Connor, in addition to four others.

As with my previous session, all the players generated their characters on the spot, using the LBBs + Supplements. I really enjoyed this aspect of the session, both because it's fun to see newcomers try and make their way through the original edition of Dungeons & Dragons for the first time and because it's such a delightfully fast process. Generating OD&D characters at the table takes 5-10 minutes tops, even less if you streamline equipment selection through the use of utilities like this one. (That link leads to a blog post by Brendan Strejcek that, at the time, I somehow didn't connect with him, so it led to the amusing situation in which I recommended its use to its creator without realizing it).

One of the great aspects of rolling up characters at the table is that it helps players get into the proper spirit of things. I'm not, by nature, a high lethality referee (if my old school cred card hasn't already been revoked, this ought to do it), but I also don't shy away from killing off characters if that's what the dice dictate. Experience has taught me that this is a lot easier for all involved if characters are created using 3d6-in-order and character generation is kept simple so that rolling up a new one mid-game isn't an arduous affair. Plus, it leads to characters like this being played rather than discarded as untenable:

A joy unique to con play (and, to a lesser extent, Google+ hangout games) is watching different people explore the same stretch of the dungeon. The differences in play style and approach become readily apparent when you play sessions temporally close to one another, as I did at OSRCon. Whereas the Friday night group was rather cautious, even timid (with the exception of Ken St. Andre's berserker magic-user), the Saturday morning group was much more bold. Indeed, they seemed to relish poking, prodding, and generally trashing Dwimmermount in order to determine how everything worked (or didn't, as the case may be).

The differences between the two groups highlighted for me that dungeons (and adventure modules in general, I suppose) can't be used in just one way. Everyone approaches them from their own perspective, which makes the task of producing a "definitive" version of them difficult -- especially since I find that I adapt my own presentation of Dwimmermount (and even its contents in some cases) in response to the actions and expectations of the players. To one group of players, a room whose description -- if it has one -- reads "Former guardroom; wooden debris" is something quickly passed through and forgotten, but to another it's a source of endless fascination, investigation, and experimentation. For the latter group, I often make up details on the spot, details that, if I like them, eventually become permanent parts of the dungeon for future adventurers to find, should they ever make the effort of looking for them.

The other thing that stands out about the second Dwimmermount group is that they actually ventured down into one of the second levels of the dungeon (there are two). I purposely had the players in both groups generated 2nd-level characters in the hopes that, not only would they survive longer, but they'd be better positioned to take on lower levels. So, I was quite pleased when this group did so, since, fond as I am of the 1st level, I've run it a lot over the years, whereas the lower levels are much less well explored, even by my home group. Indeed, there's a lot of the dungeon no one has ever visited.

A final difference between the two groups is that the Saturday group discovered a pretty valuable magic item hidden behind a secret door -- a tome of clear thought. In my mind, I had confused the tome with the manual of puissant skill at arms, thinking that, instead of granting a +1 bonus to Intelligence, it increased the level of the magic-user who read it. Consequently, upon being discovered, the two magic-users diced for possession of it and then elected to leave the dungeon for a time to give the winner a chance to read it thoroughly. The rest of the group healed and re-equipped and they returned with a 3rd-level magic-user in their party. Aside from my obvious screw-up, this was interesting to me, since most con groups don't bother with leaving the dungeon for any length of time, instead forging ahead regardless of the cost. I found it a smart decision and so saw no reason not to allow it. Plus, it gave me a chance to use my dungeon restocking tables.

It was another good session and a reminder of the unique joys of playing with strangers, something I hadn't done since I was a youth, back in the ancient days when it seemed like D&D games broke out spontaneously whenever three or four kids were in the same place for any length of time. I highly recommend the experience, particularly for referees.

OSRCon: Dwimmermount, Session 1

Last Friday, I ran the first of two sessions of Dwimmermount at OSRCon here in Toronto. I'd done this the year before and, from that experience, I knew what worked and what didn't. One of the things that worked was doing all the mapping myself. I brought with me a dry-erase map to which I added details as the players explored the first level of the dungeon. I'm frankly terrible at giving out reasonably accurate map descriptions anyway -- I often wind up correcting the maps of my players out of shame -- so I felt this would save a lot of headaches at the table and ensure that things moved along at a brisker pace.

Last year, I used pregenerated characters and gave the players an objective for the four-hour session, like "Find the rumored dwarf cemetery on Level 1" or "Locate the portal to Areon on Level 3," thinking this would provide some useful focus. This year, I abandoned both, allowing players to create characters on the spot and to wander about with whatever purpose they made for themselves. I think both decisions were wise, particularly generating characters at the table, since many players had never used the OD&D rulebooks before and it gave them a chance to handle and peruse them not as artifacts of a hoary past but as, well, RPG books that are meant to be used. I did allow players to create 2nd-level characters, since I wanted them to plausibly be able to explore the second levels of the dungeon if they so desired (both groups did).

My Friday night game had two "celebrity" players: Greg Gillespie of Barrowmaze fame and Ken St. Andre, creator of Tunnels & Trolls. Greg's presence was well known to me in advance and I really looked forward to having the chance to play with him, while Ken's appearance was quite unexpected. Shortly after I arrived at the con, Ken walked up to me -- he must have recognized me from my blog photos -- and asked if he could snag a seat at my game. I was more than a little surprised at this, since I was running D&D -- "That Other Game," as Ken calls it -- and didn't think he'd be very interested. Ken assured me he was interested, although he did express disappointment that I wasn't running "my" game, by which he meant Thousand Suns. I explained to him that attendees at OSRCon expected me to run Dwimmermount and he again asked if he could play. I said yes, knowing full well I was likely in for a ride, since Ken is well known for his impish personality, as well as his dislike of D&D and its rules.

In total, there were eight players at Friday's session and their characters consisted of a good mix of fighting men, magic-users, and clerics. There was a single elven thief, who was slain by a poison dart trap. He was replaced mid-game by a dwarf henchman (also a thief), who proved to be an unreliable scout, often claiming to have spotted no monsters up ahead when he really had. Needless to say, this led to chaos and hilarity at times. Two other characters ought to have died: a fighting man reduced to exactly 0 hit points but who was saved by the immediate application of a black sludge found in an alchemy lab that turned out to be a potion of healing and a 83 year-old magician who'd been carrying a slept gnome on his back. When a kobold spear struck the magician, his player asked if the gnome might have been struck instead. Quick recourse to the oracular dice yielded an affirmative and the MU lived to explore further.

Lots of things stand out about this session, most notably how cautious players become when they're playing in an avowedly "old school" dungeon. Likewise, there was a lot of creative spell use, particularly of charm person, which enabled the characters to take control of orcs on Level 2A and use them as guides, as well as cannon fodder. With the exception of the player of the dwarf thief and Ken St. Andre (about which I'll say more in a moment), the players worked very well together, forming a fairly cohesive team that not only relied on one another but worked to each others' strengths. Consequently, they managed to explore quite a lot of two levels in four hours and, I hope, had a good time doing so.

I called Ken "impish" above and that may be something of an understatement. Though the other players all created their own characters, Ken asked that I create his. I gave him a magic-user and that was probably a big mistake, since he continually balked at not only his spell selection but the very nature of D&D's magic system, attempting at many turns to get me to modify it to make it more like that of Tunnels & Trolls. When he saw that this was getting him nowhere, he took a different tack, turning his magician into a bloodthirsty combatant, leaping into battle and wielding his dagger with reckless abandon. Fortunately for him, the dice favored him and he didn't die, despite his foolhardiness. Later, he killed an orc, flayed it and wore its face as a mask, hoping to disguise himself as a monster. The tactic didn't quite work as he'd hoped, but neither did it hinder him, so he seemed content.

I can't deny that, in retrospect, I feel a little bad at how things unfolded with Ken. He and I have corresponded by email for a long time and I suspect he felt that, given our familiarity with one another, it was perfectly reasonable that he play as he did. He later remarked, on Saturday's panel, that he thought me a very good sport for the way I persevered under his constant barrage of wheedling. Of course, he also said that he felt it was the job of players to "give the referee opportunities to change his mind," but I wasn't in the mood to do that on Friday. The other players handled the situation well and didn't complain, even though it was clear at least a couple of them weren't pleased with what they, quite reasonably, perceived as a disruption. What saddens me most, I think, is that they've probably got a far worse opinion of Ken than they ought, but, given the circumstances, I don't blame them at all for feeling that.

All in all, I think my first Dwimmermount session this year was solid, but not as good as I'd have hoped it would be. On the plus side, I got the chance to meet a number of local folks interested in old school gaming and that's a victory no matter how you view it.

Never the Same

OSRCon is this coming weekend and, like last year, I'll be running a couple of sessions for folks interested in exploring my Dwimmermount megadungeon. I really enjoy doing this, because it's great fun to see how players who've never had the chance to delve into this megadungeon react to its inhabitants and mysteries. It's also great to see how I react to new players.

 In the four years since I created Dwimmermount, I've played with quite a few different groups of players. There's my home group, of course, but there are also gamers I've met at OSRCon and through Google+ (where I'm still running sessions biweekly, when real life doesn't prevent me from doing so, as it did recently). Though there are some players who carry over from one group to another, there are also a lot of new players, so they're experiencing the dungeon for the first time. So, not only are its chambers and monsters and traps fresh to them, they're also bringing with them different expectations about what Dwimmermount is like -- and those expectations color the way the interact with the dungeon. Those expectations also color the way I present the dungeon.

You've probably all seen this photograph of Gary Gygax's map and key to the first level of his Castle Greyhawk dungeon, right? What's noteworthy about that photo, aside from how labyrinthine Castle Greyhawk appears to be, is that Gary's key is incredibly sparse by the standards of published dungeons. I suspect (never having had the pleasure of playing with him) that Gary probably used that key as a starting point for describing Castle Greyhawk rather than as a definitive presentation of the dungeon itself. It's a combination of snapshot and mnemonic device to aid him in his refereeing. And while I am sure that many details of Castle Greyhawk remained the same no matter who Gygax was running through it, I also suspect that some details changed, or were at least presented differently in response to how his players reacted to what they encountered.

To the right you'll see a small portion of my horribly scrawled original notes for Dwimmermount. They're what I used when I first started to run the dungeon for my home group and they're still what I use when I run the dungeon at cons or on Google+. You'll notice that they don't contain a lot of information, often not even game stats. So you'll see "Junk" or "7 Orcs" rather than anything more extensive. I'd be lying if I said I wrote my key in this way for a principled reason. The truth is I was lazy and figured I'd add details later, as needed. After all, what was the point in writing up an exhaustive description of a room that contains only debris -- especially if the players never explored the room at all in play?

This has had two interesting side effects. Firstly, I never run Dwimmermount the same way twice, at least not exactly. The key says that Room 62 is an "audience chamber" with "throne, etc." and nothing more. In play, I always expand upon this description, adding as much detail as I think the current players desire. So, I'll almost always say that there's a wooden throne upon a dais in the room, along with some other trappings of authority, like rotting tapestries and the like. How much more I say beyond that depends on how interested my players seem to be in the room and its contents. In some sessions, I've described the throne in great detail, talking about the carvings upon it, as well as its current state of repair. In other sessions, it's the tapestries that get this kind of treatment, while in others still I may make note of something else entirely, like some broken spearheads in the corner of the room or a shattered shield. In each case, though, my description is based on my perception of the players' level of curiosity and interests. My various descriptions are probably all consonant with one another, but the words I choose to use vary, often considerably, from group to group.

Secondly, the process of converting my key into something useful as a published product has proven a far more irksome one than I had ever imagined. Mind you, I'd anticipated this problem years ago and so have no one to blame but myself. But the point remains: translating sparsely worded notes into something that not only makes sense to others but is thoroughly usable by them is harder than it looks, particularly when one has, as I have, come to appreciate firsthand the benefits of sparseness. Having run many levels of Dwimmermount numerous times with groups of different gamers has taught me to find liberation in a certain degree of vagueness, as it gives me flexibility to tailor the dungeon to whoever is currently sitting at the table with me.

Though I have no proof of this, I have begun to suspect that a sparse (and flexible) key is the sanest way to run a megadungeon, unless one is possessed of a uniquely powerful memory. With so many rooms on each level, many of which will be empty or at least without any contents of significance, does it even make sense to have highly detailed descriptions? I think the same can often be said of many rooms with inhabitants or other contents of significance. Needless to say, the process of turning my own megadungeon into a form for others has been -- and continues to be -- a learning experience.

The Art Gallery on Level 3A: The House of Portals ©2012 Eric Quigley

Dungeon Restocking and Rival Adventuring Parties

It was Dave "Sham" Bowman who first introduced me to random dungeon restocking -- the idea that, when characters return to the dungeon after having left it to rest and re-supply, there is a chance that formerly cleared-out rooms might again be occupied. Both Stonhell and Barrowmaze make use of a table that Sham presented for use with his Dismal Depths megadungeon. The table looks like this:

Roll 1d6
1 Monster
2 Monster and Treasure
3-6 Empty (1 in 6 chance of concealed treasure)

I really like this table because it mechanizes the process of keeping a megadungeon "alive," which is, I think, a key feature that distinguishes it from smaller, "lair" type dungeons. When I started work on Dwimmermount, I decided that, in addition to this table, I needed another one. The reason was that, while Sham's table is great for determining whether or not a room that once held six orcs whom the PCs slew has been re-occupied in the interim, it says nothing about the occupied rooms the characters haven't yet explored.

Why would that matter? Well, one of the premises of the Dwimmermount campaign was that the Thulian mountain fortress had been shut off from the world for several hundred years beforehand. The PCs are, for various reasons, the first outsiders to successfully enter Dwimmermount since the fall of the Thulian Empire. However, they wouldn't be the last. Once word got out that the PCs had done the seemingly impossible -- returned alive from the megadungeon and with loot -- it'd only be a matter of time before others followed in their footsteps. Thus was born the Rival Adventuring Parties table.

I roll on the Rival Adventuring Parties table every time the PCs return to town, but, unlike the restocking table, I roll once for every room the PCs didn't visit, modified by +2% -- it's a percentile table -- for every time they left the dungeon to return to "civilization." The table looks like this:

Roll d%
01-80 No Change
81-90 Evidence of other adventurers (e.g. footprints in the dust, used torches, broken weapons, etc.) is found amidst the room's other contents
91-100 One (1-3) or more (4-6) dead adventurers from a rival party is found in the room. If the room is trapped in any way, the dead adventurers' bodies provide clues as to the nature of the trap(s) therein. If not, their deaths can be attributed to the nearest monsters in other rooms/areas.
101-110 As 91-100, except that any monsters in the room have their numbers reduced by one-half.
111-120 As 81-90, except that any monsters in the room have been slain and their treasure (if any) looted.
121+ A rival adventuring party is currently in the room. If there were any monsters in the room previously, there is a 50% chance that they have been slain and their treasure looted, as in 111-120. Otherwise, the rival party is currently engaging them in combat.

Needless to say, I've never been religious in my use of this table, but I do use it. At least three rival adventuring parties were encountered by the Fortune's Fools PC group (two good-aligned and one evil) and their encounters with these rivals led to some interesting developments in the campaign that my players still talk about. Personally, I love rival adventuring parties and think they're an important part of any megadungeon-centric campaign, which is why I've included several already statted up for use in Dwimmermount, along with the tables I use for quickly generating them.

Delta's Dwimmermount Adventure

Over at his D&D Hotspot, there's a really nice post in which Delta recounts his experiences adventuring on the first level of Dwimmermount, with Tavis Allison as the referee. His post made me really happy for a number of reasons, not least of them being that it's terrific to see others enjoying something that I've created. I was also gratified to read the following:

In my short play experience, it seems that James Maliszewski's Dwimmermount is a whole lot freakier than I expected -- and I mean that in the most complimentary way possible. Of course, we were dealing with things like orcs, kobolds, and skeletons -- but no element appeared that wasn't corrupted in some deep and disturbing way. Not even the dungeon doors escaped being of bizarre function and construct. It looks like a very memorable place to adventure.

Those are words to warm the cockles of even the most curmudgeonly referee's heart.

Do take a look at Delta's post, if only to see the photos he's included of the Dwarven Forge dungeon tiles they used to represent Dwimmermount. Good stuff!

Dwimmermount-Related News

I've got a couple of pieces of Dwimmermount-related news to pass along for those of you who care:

1. A very rough draft of the first level is now available to all backers of the Kickstarter. It's basically a first pass in prettying up the notes I use in my home campaign. As the weeks wear on, it'll be expanded and clarified, but here's the chance to see it at an early stage. Both portions of level 2 (since it's divided into two "halves," each accessible by a different means from level 1) will be made available in a similar state between now and early next week. Additional rough drafts will follow in the weeks between now and the end of the funding period.

2. As I did last week, I'll be running a Google+ session tomorrow evening between 9pm and 12am EST. I have several outstanding invites to this session that I haven't yet heard back from, but I anticipate there will be one or two spaces open to newcomers. I'll know more tomorrow, but, if that's the case, I'd like to choose to fill those spaces with backers, as a thank you for helping to support this project. I'll have more details tomorrow on this, but I wanted to let people know now. I should also add that I'll be doing this every Friday night for the foreseeable future, so, even if tomorrow night isn't possible (or you're not selected -- after all, there are already over 300 backers), there will be further opportunities.

Thanks!